


Valle Hall

by Aenithon



Category: VA-11 Hall-A (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, F/F, Vaginal Fingering, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenithon/pseuds/Aenithon
Summary: Jill finds herself in a AU, working at the ambiguously European Valle Hall. But what sort of secret could the darkly handsome owner, Dana Zane, be hiding?(Written for an AU twitter poll on my twitter @aenithon)
Relationships: Jill Stingray/Dana Zane
Kudos: 18





	Valle Hall

“Time to pull ales and change lives.”

Being a bartender at Valle Hall had its perks; Jill was still holding onto the hope that she'd discover more of them, and fast.

“Hey wench! St-”  
This wasn't one of them.

“Stout, large. I know.” Somewhere just shy of her pupils, she brought this mug down on his pate. In reality, where she didn't want to get arrested, she set it before the cask behind the bar surface. “And don't call me that, I'm a bartender.”

“Then why'd you answer when I called wench?”

“...”  
“Bahahaha!” His big most stretched cavernously as he laughed. “The look says it all, honey! You look like my ex-wife when I told her I spent her entire dowry on a printing press.”

“Did she want to put you through the machine too?” The venom dripped from her tongue before she could think – Jill started pulling the lager, head down. Just because the guy chaired the printer's guild...

“You've got a smart tongue for a wench! I like that. If you weren't such a twig and were quicker at pulling drafts, I'd probably be proposing to you right now.”

“I can give you a 'no' in advance.” The violence of her turn tore some of the foamy head away from its dark trunk. If only his would come off so easily.

“Take it from me – never go on the record if you can avoid it, and absolutely _not_ when you're wrong as hell. And you, Gil, are wrong as hell.” He gulped deeply, cutting off Jill's first attempt at a response with a yet deeper contented sigh.

“You...” She gripped the inside lip of the bar hard enough to bring the ghost of a professional smile back to her face. “You  _almost_ remembered my name this time.”

“Nope, I'm just messing with you.” Donovan's broad grin spread foam along his mustache quite nearly to his ears. “If I ever catch you swimming, remind me to save the bait and just throw the lure in.”

“...”

“Hahaha! Cat got your tongue? Or should I say catfish? Besides, Gil is that-”

“Hey Jill,” Gil's awkward, helplessly helpful smile slipped from around the edge of the cask, “I could hear the bar creaking – is everything alright?”

“Everything's-” So Gil  _was_ alright sometimes! It almost made Jill regret circulating his newest nickna-  
“Well speak of the fustilarian, there he is now!”

“The  _what_ ?”

“You heard me, fustilarian. Want me to run off some verses of Catullus for you? They seem like they'd be right up your alley.”

Gil's mouth hung open as he no doubt wished he had never left the safety of the cellar.

“Jill, where did he...?” She was never a good liar, it was every bit as reliable as her reaction whenever someone ordered a Shaftesbury pilsner. “...Jill, why?”

“Uh...”

“What does it even  _mean_ ?”

“Uh... it's... Shakespearean?”

“Have you even  _read_ Shakespeare?”

“I've printed him, that's good enough.” Donovan slammed his empty tankard onto the counter, causing his due payment to hop and clatter down to the floor. “See ya around, fusty. There's an extra coin there so you can go get your catastrophe tickled.”

With that he was off, leaving the thick, beery pall of his presence in the air. Escaping down toward the coins didn't prove itself much respite, seeing his shoes there and knowing the kicked dog look he was fixing on her. In her defense, she pleaded before the court of her own conscience, it was only because Art got drunk and started quoting the bard at her.

...Okay, so she had gotten him drunk. But, rejoined her internal lawyer, had he not, in fact, had better recall and recitation after she topped him off with optional spirits? Granted, he quickly slid into Catullus and she had to kick him out. The defense rapidly slipped into pleading ignorance.

Oh, right, he was still waiting for an apology. She could at least angle for a plea and an explanation.

“Look, Gil, you don't get it, the man was all,” she mumbled as she started to raise her head, “'Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo', don't you get why I had to throw somebody under the wagon?”

She should have known, when she saw the black leather boots, that Gil had walked off in a huff and been replaced. Yet still her traitorous tongue continued, up over the likewise dark leather breeches, along the seam and to the ruff of the ostentatiously puffy white shirt, stopping along the way to appreciate the heavy, crimson cloak hiding the left arm of the last destination, the quizzical face of her boss, the pale, white-haired (in a cool way) Dana Zane.

“Jill, I didn't know you were a poet. ...Or was that a threat? ...Or two different threats?”

Which set off so nicely against the much darker wood of the bar, streaked with grain nearly blackened by the finish. It was a warmly brown hue, quite possibly applewood. Or maybe cedar? No, it must be mahogany. Truthfully, Jill knew absolutely nothing about the different kinds of wood. But mahogany was the one that people always talked about like it was really great.

Oh, right, she had to answer.

“Buh.”

“Buh?”

“Sss.”

“Sss.”

“Guh.”

“There there.” The extended hand, so princely and courtly a gesture, was quite impossible to resist even addled as she was. Much as that was the case, she was not remotely prepared to be face to face with Dana. “I know some of the customers are brats, but I can't have you hiding under the bar during your shift.”

“I – I wasn't,” she hopefully lifted her cupped palms, the mismatched coins between them, “Donovan, he uh...”

“Was that guy bothering you?” She took a fearsome step forward, like a duelist. It slid easily inside Jill's guard and scored a point effortlessly. 

“Y-yes.” She failed to lie. “Er, I mean, he's usually like that, so it's fine. I'm pretty used to it at this point. Have you seen Gil?”

“I'm concerned about you right now, Jill.” Was it only the candlelight making her eyes seem to dance red? 

“B... buh.”

“Now you're reusing your lines. Come on, you're going to my office to take a break.” The coins fell back to the floor. Yet now the sounds seemed to distant as the boss's hand – cool, firm, reassuring – took hers and carried it away with gentle pressure. “That's an order if it has to be.”

There was playfulness to the smirk disappearing over her shoulder; underneath it, a power that brooked no resistance.

Dana Zane's office was a moody haunt at odds with its décor, a single sconce and a fireplace burning low casting harsh shadows among the collection of mismatched trophies and knickknacks. Jill could hardly put a name to the country where some of these things may have come from, much less what to what they were or to their purpose. The only ones she did recognize, she did solely because her boss either liked to brandish them about or frequently got her head stuck in them. Those ranged from odd weapons, to exotic animals, to hideous fish, as well as a contraption or two – in both categories.

“Sit down.” Friendly though it was said, she wasn't about the refuse – the thick armchair made her instantly feel very small. “I'll pour you some wine. It's from the vineyard of a friend of mine. Very good, but don't tell the customers – you can't put a price on gifts.”

“Y-yeah.” Jill would have kicked herself for the limp response, if it wouldn't raise her skirt enough to flash her boss. Instead she simply sank a bit more into the plush fabric, hoping the low light would mask her blush.

“Hey,” it was a delicate maneuver for Dana to point while holding a pair of wine glasses with one hand – the other still hidden beneath her cloak worn well over the shoulder - but she pulled it off with aplomb, “monosyllables aren't fair. If there's something wrong with what I said, I don't mind you saying so.”

“R-right.” Her heart pounded once, firmly gesturing at the silence she needed to fill. “I-I mean it's... I agree. But you said it so well any addition would... stain it, you know?”

“That was prettily said.” The glass found its way to her hands, the rim soon after to her lips, “See? You can do it if you give yourself the chance.”

An almost earthy taste beneath the sweetness, rich and deep enough that it finished with an almost metallic note. It was quite unlike any red wines on their menu.

“T... thank you, boss. I really appreciate it.” She tried a smile, worrying about how the long shadows might mar it.

“Any time. How's the wine?”

“It's an interesting flavor. Where did you say this was from? I don't think I've had anything like it.”

“From a friend.” As the boss stepped between Jill and the fire, her expression became impossible to read. Sparkling in the light spilling around her silhouette was her own glass, rising steadily to her lips. “One of a kind, or so he says.”

“How much does a cask of this stuff cost?” Jill bit her tongue. Instinct had strained to know how much money was being thrown away on her weakness, but guilt seized instantly upon the baseness of such a question.

The raised glass slipped to the carpet, a sanguine creep spreading instantly among the shards. The boss's back turned and huddled sharply, her head curling down with a sharp exhale.

Oh no. This was bad. How could she have been so stupid? In exchange to the outstretched hand of amity, one returned reversed, across the cheek.

“I'm sorry! I just thought that-” Her fingers reached outward as she leapt from the armchair, as if to soothe the harm away under the selfsame power that inflicted it.

“You should go back to work now.”  
The cold constraint of the utterance gripped Jill's heart. Yet some tortuous, blessed purpose drove her a few steps onward.

Enough to see that it was not a careless word that nearly doubled Dana Zane over, but what must surely be horridly wrenching pain.

“How could I – something is very wrong! Can I get anything for you to...” Something in the curve of the cloak clenched beneath her breast drew Jill's eye. “Your arm? How long have you...”

“Please, Jill, while I am still yet myself!”

“You shouldn't have to bear this alone!” She knew not the import of her words, nor whence came the bravery that drew her abreast to the huddled figure. In the fire's light, a sight gnarled and malformed, every harsh line suggesting unspeakable menace.

Jill turned her back – in shame or fear, she knew not which – but she did not retreat from the office.

“You see now why I must.” It was a tone very unfamiliar to that voice, the bottom of the well of bitterness hidden behind a dense murk. “This is a burden that can't be shared.”

“If it pains you so, then what can I do but want to help?” The sight of that confident mien corrupted by agony made emboldened her speech and soothed it to plainness.

“Hgghk...” This time, it was Dana who was speechless.

“You've done so much for me – I would give anything in return, and freely so. If I could carry that burden for you, if only for one night...”

Only the rustle of the cloak spoke to the unnervingly rapid approach behind her. Cool breath teased her nape, drawing gooseflesh and a shudder of complex origin.

“You...” As suddenly as it was there, the presence receded. Though her fearful nature was relieved, something deeper in Jill felt an aching absence. “...know not what you ask.”  
“I – I said anything, didn't I?”

Again, as sudden – she found a weight thrown over her, paradoxically more reassuring for its heaviness. It showed the lengths to which her trust reached. Nor did it receded, even as she felt the jaggedness of that limb, nor when the wracks evoked by a pain she couldn't fathom caused its ends, murderous like the talons of a bird of prey, to tear at her uniform and bite the soft flesh of her breast.

“Jill...”

“It's okay, boss.” She reached, as quickly as she dared, to comfort her, hoping that contact might soothe more than harm. “This can remain between the two of us.”

“I... I can't...” Her other hand joined, lowered to Jill's abdomen, pressed with weighty import just above her waist. Jill's breath caught, her blood rushing at the shifting tenor of their words. Could she dare to hope...?

“You don't have to.” Guessing, casting recklessly, she started to lower that hand further. “If it's with you, I...”

Her voice peaked as Dana greedily pushed through the fabric of her skirt to rub at Jill's mound. Already the friction of her underwear was noisy with her juice. Knowing that the woman behind her could sense this, it was a small surprise when her skirt was torn from her and fell somewhere in the darkness outside of their private, intimate circle of firelight.

“For so long I've thought of this.” Dana's voice was a hungry purr in her ear, her fingers tracing up Jill's inner thigh to find their prize tantalizing hidden by but one thin layer of cloth.

“You weren't alone there, either.” Jill hazarded in a voice cord-taut with lust. 

The hungry hand could wait no longer, pulling aside her underclothes and sinking deep into her warmth. Jill's breath came hot as well, both fires only quenched in part by the coolness of Dana's kiss and caress.

The lips parted from hers, rejoining at her neck, just beneath her ear, and trailing downward to her collar. Something sharp – far too much so to be a tooth – trailed too within it.

“Jill...” A desperate need for permission – acceptance – was contained in that single syllable.

“What did you just – _ahn –_ say about monosyllables?” Where one hand guided Dana deeper, the other found her hair with a soft, encouraging pressure. “Even without knowing, I accept this too.”

With all the haste of a consuming thirst, Dana's fangs broke through the tender flesh of her throat. Somehow, it did not hurt – rather the puncture radiated a consuming, maddening warmth as she felt something of herself become part of Dana. Before long, it reached her crotch, her hips rising and lowering in response, grinding her wetness until it slapped against palm.

“ _H-haa_ I... I can't...” Weakness left all of her, save for her desperately clenching thighs. It was now her weight that hung, gently supported by an arm that cut no longer, its mate coaxing her deeper and deeper into her orgasm, their reassuring strength promising to rescue her from the brink of oblivion.

As the last of her throes faded and eventually subsided to even, slow gasps, Jill sank to the floor. She could see the blood trickling down from her neck, over her breasts. Idly, in post-orgasmic fancy, she wondered if it had tasted good. Then, she fell into a gentle repose, sheltered by the strong arms and thick cloak thrown over her kneeling form.

-

“Ahhh. Are the fangs coming in yet, Fore?”

_Meow._

“What?! But it's almost been a week! I've got to be a vampire by now!”

_Meow._

“Did I do something wrong? Ugh, I'm so stupid, this was my chance to finally be cool!”

_Meow._

“...That was uncalled for.”


End file.
